


The Gift

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gift Giving, Holidays, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28500426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Brienne finds the perfect gift for Jaime but worries that it reveals too much about her feelings for him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 35
Kudos: 354
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange Stocking Stuffers 2020





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KayJayTeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayJayTeal/gifts).



> Sorry this is a little late!

Brienne had walked down this way many times, barely noticing the little shops that lined the sidewalk. She’d definitely never noticed the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore tucked between a coffee shop and a knitting store. 

Not until the heavens opened up beneath a sunny sky, and Brienne, without an umbrella, ducked through the nearest door to escape the sudden deluge. 

The shop was dim, dusty, with that dry scent of paper and binding glue that old books had. It was so quiet the rain outside should have been audible, but somehow it wasn’t, like the doorway had taken her far from the streets of King’s Landing. 

Lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over tall shelves crammed with old books in neat rows. With its worn carpet and faded shelf labels, Brienne was reminded of the library back at Harrenhal. She hadn’t thought of that place for a long time. It was easier not to.

And then she saw a familiar title on an unfamiliar spine. 

_ The Last Kingsguard.  _

In all the months she’d spent researching her dissertation in Harrenhal’s ancient and imposing library, Brienne had seen many volumes of this tale, but never this particular edition. She wiped her damp fingers on her pants, then carefully tugged the book loose from its snug spot between  _ Beyond the Wall _ and  _ The Dance of the Dragons _ . Carefully she flipped open the fabric cover and turned the pages. She inhaled sharply. It was illustrated, beautifully, almost illuminated in the style of the dragon age from which the story came.

And then a wrinkled hand snatched the book out of her hands. “That is not for you.” The voice was aged but firm.

Brienne blushed as she turned to face the bookseller. He was ancient and bald, wrapped in a heavy black sweater so large it was nearly a robe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this shelf was off limits.”

He squinted up at her, rheumy eyes so pale they looked almost lavender. “It isn’t.”

“But you said--”

“This book is not for you,” he repeated, and started working it back onto the shelf. 

“It’s not for  _ me _ ,” she blurted without thinking. 

His head cocked to the side, his hands still. “A gift?”

“Yes.” She knew exactly who this book belonged to, the man with Dawn tattooed on his right forearm. She didn’t even need to ask if he would want it, not that she could right now anyway. Jaime Lannister was in Oldtown at the Citadel, on one of his research trips. Because of the vast armillary spheres and mirrors suspended inside the ancient library, cell signal was dismal, and he only left the library to eat and sleep. 

The bookseller regarded her as the dust motes floated around them. Again the silence struck her. This shop felt ancient and removed from the bustle of the street outside. Brienne would not be surprised if this bookshop was a cell phone store or takeout Meereenese tomorrow. 

“Tell me,” he finally said, his mouth working oddly as his false teeth shifted in his mouth. 

Brienne was momentarily speechless. How to describe Jaime? He would give his eye teeth for this book, and a wheelbarrow full of gold, and anything else he could lay his hands on. Somehow she doubted that was what the bookseller wanted to hear. The Lannisters were well known for simply throwing gold at their problems, but he wasn’t like the rest of his family. 

Jaime grew up loving the tale of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and how he brought down the Targaryen dynasty with his mighty blade Dawn to save the realm. By the time they’d met as grad students at KLU, Jaime had made studying the Kingsguard his life’s work. He believed in their chivalric ideal so strongly that unearthing their corruption had sent him into a depression that had nearly ended his career and threatened their friendship. 

“In another life,” she finally said, “he would have been a Kingsguard himself.”

The bookseller still had a spotted hand on the book. He made a dismissive snort and started pushing it back between its fellows. “Fancies himself Arthur Dayne does he? Or Aemon the Dragonknight? They all do.” 

A draft, strangely from the back of the shop, not the front, made her shiver. “Criston Cole,” she corrected. He’d guest lectured for a year at Nightsong College to study Cole as much as to escape the wreck he’d made of his life in King’s Landing. 

The man hesitated. “A more worthy choice,” he conceded. “Make me an offer.”

Perhaps he didn’t know what he had. “A hundred dragons?” 

He snorted and grumbled and shook his head. “I have never seen another copy of this edition. It may be unique in the world.”

Brienne’s chest tightened. Of course, she would stumble across a priceless volume in late summer when her bank account was so low she was eating noodles several times a week. “Two hundred? It can’t be that dear, if you have it out here on the shelves.”

“You’re not listening.” The bookseller shoved the book tightly back between the others. “Gold does not interest me.”

What kind of shopkeeper didn’t want gold? “I’m sorry, I don’t have any rare books to trade.” She had enough trouble gaining access to the few copies of the books she needed to study. Some of the ancient great Houses still resisted allowing their ancient texts to be scanned for preservation.

The bookseller peered up at her, seeming to realize how large she was for the first time. Brienne’s broad shoulders nearly filled the aisle between shelves. She shifted uneasily, never happy with such scrutiny. His eyes narrowed as they fell on her open collar. “That pendant,” he said with a sharp nod. 

Brienne’s hand stole up to her necklace. It was an emerald cut sapphire, fashioned less for sparkle than for showing off the deep, clear blue of the stone. “This was my mother’s. I couldn’t.” Her father had given it to her mother on their wedding day, a joke between them about the Sapphire Isle, on which there were no sapphires. Brienne wore it rarely, but today it had whispered to her from its velvet box in her dresser drawer.

“The book for the jewel. That’s my price, child.” His voice was firm, and he held out his hand. His fingertips were ink-stained, his skin so thin the veins stood out dark blue beneath it. 

Her father would be furious. He’d never much liked her friendship with Jaime, and he already thought Jaime took advantage of her generosity. He had no idea all the things Jaime did for her, helping her get grants and introducing her to people she would never meet otherwise. Her father never wanted to hear about it. He thought she should be able to do everything on her own, and that Jaime’s efforts were cheating. 

The book called to her. Brienne had felt in Jaime’s debt for years, and it would be a relief to give him something he could not otherwise have. Brienne wasn’t willing to play the odds that this book would still be here when Jaime returned from his trip. Her hands went to the nape of her neck, large fingers working the delicate clasp that had always frustrated her. 

The bookseller put out his hand, gnarled fingers closing over the necklace as she dropped it into his palm. He turned and removed the book from the shelf again, but did not hand it to her. He shuffled down the aisle further into the store.

Brienne followed, and found him behind a cluttered counter with an antique cash register. He wrote out a receipt in spidery script. The book was already wrapped in heavy brown paper and slipped into a plain paper sack. “Won’t it get wet?” she asked, puzzled. 

The bookseller shook his head. “The storm has passed.” He stared hard at her as he held out the book. “I hope you are happy with your purchase.”

She was happy with it, clutching the package to her chest as she dodged puddles on the sidewalk and inhaled the fresh petrichor scent that temporarily wiped away the exhaust and trash and mingled cooking smells of the neighborhood around KLU. 

The plain brown paper, peeking out of an equally nondescript paper sack, sat on her desk at home for the next week. Every night she saw it, and ignored the question it asked. This wasn’t a casual gift. It said something about them, about  _ her _ . As if all the confessions she’d heard and care she’d given over the years didn’t reveal exactly how she felt about him. At least Jaime was polite enough about her obvious pining to pretend he didn’t notice it. 

She put the book in a drawer, and didn’t mention it when she picked him up from the airport. It would be less weird if she waited for a gift-giving occasion, like his nameday or Sevenmas. 

But when his nameday came, she couldn’t put her name on the package. So Brienne bought him a tie patterned with tiny swords, and left the book at home when she met Jaime and a few colleagues at a pub for cake and drinks. Jaime gamely looped it around his neck even though he was wearing a henley. He looked ridiculous and clearly didn’t care a whit.

By Sevenmas, the book was burning a hole in her desk, and when she wrapped up her other gifts, she finally wrapped that one as well, leaving the brown paper from the bookshop intact. Velvety white paper and a gold ribbon, something that wouldn’t look out of place beside the professionally wrapped gifts from his family. They were having dinner one night, probably the Feast of the Father.

The white paper fit snugly over the brown, and she finished the package with a simple gold ribbon and a tag that read only:  _ To J From B _ . 

On their last day in the office before the holiday break, Brienne passed out her packages, leaving Jaime for last. He was squinting at his computer screen when she came into his office, his computer glasses perched on his head. Piles of books littered his desk alongside scraps of ripped gift wrap, and an opened box of chocolates with several pieces already missing. The holiday sweater he wore was patterned with gold swords and shields. On anyone else, it would look absurd, but on him it was endearing. 

He looked up and his scowl melted into a warm smile. “You’re not leaving me too, are you?”

Brienne sighed theatrically, as if she was annoyed. She could barely remember the time when she loathed him, it felt so long ago. For years now, that smile had turned her molten inside. “It’s almost six, Jaime. The rest of us didn’t wait til the last minute to finish grading,” she reminded him. 

“Go then, and leave me here all alone,” he grumbled, then noticed the package in her hand. “Did you bring me something at least?” 

“Yes, but you can’t open it until the new year.” She set the book down on his desk, instantly lighter with the task completed. 

Jaime scowled and picked at the ribbon. “I always hated that custom,” he grumbled. 

Brienne laughed. “Of course you did. You peeked at your gifts early, didn’t you?” 

Jaime shrugged, but the way he looked away suggested that he had. Patience was not among his virtues even now, much less when he was a child. Brienne had thought Sevenmas particularly cruel when she was young, a day devoted to each of the Seven before finally gifts were opened on the first day of the new year. 

“I have to go to the Rock, but we could get together after the new year?” he suggested, uncertainty lacing his voice.

“I’ll be around, just give me a call.” It sounded pathetic, but if Jaime didn’t know by now that she wasn’t overburdened with friends demanding her time, then he didn’t know her very well.

“Aren’t you going home?” Jaime’s brow furrowed, and he abandoned any pretense that he was still grading a paper. He pushed his keyboard away. 

She shook her head. “Nah, Dad’s going on a tour of Pentos with Goodwin. I sent his packages last week so they’ll be there when he gets back.” 

Every year Brienne said she was going to spend the whole week on Tarth, and every year she came back early. It had nothing to do with her father, who was fun if a bit distracted every time she visited. He had a very active social life, and insisted on dragging her along to all the events he’d been invited to. Brienne would much rather have spent the time alone with him at home. The island was actually quite large, but it felt small. Everyone still seemed to know her, and they asked the same questions every year. When was she going to get married? Why didn’t she just come home and find a nice young island man? She could teach history at the high school. Brienne had heard the whispers, some of them loud enough that she was clearly meant to hear what a snob she’d become. 

A flash of irritation crossed Jaime’s face, but he’d learned not to criticize her father long ago. Brienne returned the favor by not openly sharing her opinions of Tywin Lannister. 

“I’ll call,” Jaime promised. “We can get a takeout feast, or go out, if you want. We could go to that dragon-age tournament restaurant, eat smoked turkey legs and heckle the knights.”

“Maybe,” she said vaguely. The last thing she wanted was to trade Tarth’s judgement of her lack of love life for King’s Landing’s mocking of her friendship with Jaime. “I should go, before traffic gets terrible.” She offered him a smile, and turned to go.

“Merry Sevenmas, Brienne,” he called after her, but Brienne only waved to him as she escaped down the hall.

* * *

The seven days of the holiday were just about perfect. Brienne ordered in, binge watched shows she didn’t normally have time to watch, and did not speak to another living soul. 

Jaime sent her a few texts, one a selfie of him making a pained expression with his family in the background dressed to the nines and looking intensely irritated by each other. 

But he didn’t suggest getting together again, and he stopped texting after day three. 

Brienne tried not to let that bother her. Maybe he met someone. That was always at the back of her mind. It was bound to happen someday. It was honestly shocking that he hadn’t been on more than a handful of dates in the last few years. 

She was fine. It was snowing outside, the awful icy slush that King’s Landing got maybe twice a winter, and she was warm and cozy in fleece pajamas and the doorbell ringing meant that her dinner was here.

Except when she opened the door, Jaime was standing there, snow in his hair and a wrapped package clutched against his chest to protect it from the elements. “Hey.” 

There was something odd about his expression, a hesitance that was unlike him. He’d never shown up at her house without calling before. “Did I miss a text?”

Jaime shook his head. “No, I just got back and thought I’d drop by. I can come back if you have plans.”

Plans? Of course, it was Stranger's Night, the last of the year, when people banished the darkness with parties and fireworks. Brienne was wearing flannel pajamas with cartoon knights on them, clearly she wasn’t going anywhere or entertaining guests. “No, just waiting for some takeout.”

He nodded. “Can I come in?” 

Brienne stepped out of the way, glancing down the street before she closed the door. The snow was coming down harder now, the cars lined up at the curb slowly becoming anonymous white lumps. Her dinner wasn’t likely to arrive for a while. “How was your trip?” she asked, trying to puzzle out his odd mood. 

“My dad bought me a watch again,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on a hook by the door.

It was a running joke by now that Tywin Lannister always noted that his son did not wear a watch and assumed he didn’t own any. His assistants were too frightened to point out he bought his eldest son a new watch every year. Jaime didn’t wear them because an old wrist injury made them uncomfortable.

Brienne closed the door behind him and returned to her spot on the couch. “And your brother?” When she’d first met Jaime the brothers were quite close, but they’d had a falling out and their relationship had never really recovered. 

Jaime bent down and unlaced his snow boots, pulling them off and leaving him in his socks. His jeans were damp, but his green sweater looked warm. No silly festive patterns on it today, just a shade that brought out his eyes. “He bought me tickets to Burning Man.” He did roll his eyes at that. The R’hllorian festival was held near Lys every year and had become no more than an excuse for a bacchanal. Far more Tyrion’s speed than Jaime’s. 

Brienne didn’t ask about Cersei. She’d undoubtedly bought him something generic like an expensive pen or a wine of the moon club. Brienne understood the rift between the twins, and the shared childhood trauma at the root of it, but it still pained her to see how disconnected Jaime’s family was. 

“So you came home early?” She didn’t even question why his family had already opened their gifts. The Lannisters were in no way devout. Tywin often compressed the holiday down to a few days so he could return to work. 

Jaime put her gift on the coffee table and settled at the far end of the couch. “I had some things I needed to deal with here. Like bringing you your gift.” 

Unease prickled across her skin. Had he opened her gift? “I thought we weren’t opening until the new year?”

“You can wait on that one, if you want,” he agreed, then pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to her. “But this one you have to open now.” 

The box was small, fitting easily on his palm, the signature crimson of a well-known jeweler, topped with a slightly crushed gold ribbon. 

Brienne froze, completely at a loss for words. He was generous, always had been, because he could be and the money meant nothing to him. She hadn’t paid for a dinner out with him since they were still in grad school. 

“Already speechless? You haven’t even opened it,” he chided, leaning toward her and setting the box in her lap. 

Brienne eyed the box, then looked up at him. Did he really not understand the message jewelry sent? Jaime was terrible with women, never seemed to understand the effect he had on them. Pia in the department office had been in love with him for years and he just ignored it. Another professor’s girlfriend had openly propositioned him and he’d acted as if it was nothing more than a compliment. 

“Come on, Brienne,” he said softly. “Be brave.”

She had to suppress a shiver, lest he see it. Jaime’s voice, warm and dark and inviting, was particularly dangerous. As was the glint in his eye, the light hitting the silver in his short beard and the curve of his mouth. She never quite got used to how stunning he was. It bowled her over at inconvenient moments, like now. 

Brienne dug her blunt nails into her palm to break the spell. “You shouldn’t have,” she said with false levity, picking up the small box in her large hands and tugging one end of the ribbon to loosen the bow. 

The ribbon slipped into her lap, and Brienne carefully worked the top of the box loose. Inside rested another box, deep red velvet trimmed with gold. Until that moment she wasn’t sure whether he’d just reused the box or if he’d truly bought her something extravagant. Even a keychain at this particular jeweler cost hundreds of dragons. 

It wasn’t a keychain.

She ran her fingertips over the contours of the gold and gemstone nestled inside the box, not quite believing her eyes. “How did you…?”

Jaime reached into his pocket again and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He offered it to her. 

Brienne took it with shaking hands and unfolded it.

_ Your lady traded this for a book, despite clearly valuing it highly. I hope you value her as much.  _

“Your pendant was folded in this note, inside the wrapping with the book you gave me,” Jaime confirmed before she could ask. 

Brienne set the note down and turned her gaze back on the box. He’d given her back her pendant, but not her pendant. The heavy sapphire was set between the jaws of a stylized gold lion’s head, and mounted on a stronger gold chain. “You did this?” she asked, touching the pendant with one fingertip.

Jaime scooted closer. “It’s still two pieces. Here, let me--” He reached over and pulled the pendant from the box. He held it out, showing her how the sapphire was held in the lion’s mouth but not attached to it. The lion was removable, both pieces moving freely along the chain. 

Brienne looked up at him, still confused. “It’s beautiful, but why?” 

For a few agonizing moments, Jaime didn’t answer. Then he smiled, small and lopsided and self-conscious, and said quietly, “I’ve been waiting for the right moment for years, when you’d be ready to hear me and believe me.”

“I always believe you,” she protested, lightly touching his knee. 

He shook his head ruefully. “Not about this. Brienne, you traded your mother’s necklace, an irreplaceable family heirloom, for a book. For me.” 

She flushed, heat suffusing her skin along with a red stain that nearly blotted out her freckles. “You love that story,” she reminded him, moving hesitantly to draw a single fingertip along the tattoo concealed beneath his sweater. 

Jaime shivered at the touch. “I love  _ you _ .” 

Brienne startled back, heart pounding. “What?”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his damp locks. “I love you, Brienne. You are the most loyal, generous, honest, loving woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t want to be without you a moment longer.” 

He sounded utterly sincere, but how could he….

Jaime waited, fidgeting a bit, and finally took the box from her lap and set it aside on the coffee table. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but … come on, Brienne. Curse me, kiss me, call me a liar. Something.” 

The heat flooding her skin sank deep, her pounding heart filling her chest, a pressure clawing up her throat. 

_ Waiting for the right moment. _

_ For years. _

_ Don’t want to be without you. _

_ Kiss me. _

She surged forward, tackling Jaime to the cushions. Her lips found his, softly, then with more insistence. His arms circled her, pulling her closer, her body settling onto his. He groaned into her mouth, and then his fingers were in her hair, and his tongue was in her mouth. 

Jaime tasted like bourbon, like he’d needed a drink for courage before coming over, and his hands were still cold as they slid under her pajama shirt, but her shiver had nothing to do with the cold. 

She was drunk on him, starving for him, unwilling to lose contact with him for even a moment as they rutted against each other on her narrow couch. Her knee slipped off the edge and she went tumbling to the floor with a gasp and a grunt of pain. 

Jaime slipped off the couch without hesitation, kneeling at her side, shoving the coffee table away. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” she gulped, nodding eagerly, already reaching for him again.

Jaime straddled her, bending down to kiss her again, better this time now that she knew how good it would be. His hands slid to the buttons of her shirt. “Okay?” he asked between kisses, moving to her jaw, her throat. 

Brienne nodded her agreement, slipping her hands under his sweater, rucking it up his torso. Smooth, warm skin greeted her, the firm plains of muscle across his stomach and chest, the hard little nubs of his nipples. He chuckled as they kissed, his hands slipping loose the last of her buttons and then he leaned up and yanked his sweater off over his head and tossed it aside. Her shirt fell open, and Jaime ducked down again, pressing his mouth to hers, his chest to hers. 

Brienne groaned low in her throat, the delicious heat of him, the warm, spicy smell of his skin, the slight rasp of his chest hair against her breasts all combining to make her dizzy with need. He slid down, the contrast between his warm, wet mouth on her nipples and the friction of his beard on her breasts making her toes curl. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she gasped, still reeling from his admission. Years wasted.

His teeth closed lightly on her nipple and he chuckled softly. “You weren’t ready.”

She tugged at his hair, gentle but getting his attention. “And now?” 

He nipped at her skin as he crawled back up, his obvious erection cradled between her legs. Jaime’s smile was brilliant, his eyes glowing and his cheeks pink above his beard. “Do you want me?” he asked playfully, one hand coming up to cup her face.

“Seven save me, yes,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss his palm. “I want you.”

Jaime kissed her again, slow and deep, making her burn.

So many nights she’d dreamed of this, too many nights she’d gotten herself off thinking of this and never once thought it might happen. 

Brienne pushed him back with a hand on his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” She sounded more than a little out of breath.

Jaime looked a little drunk too. “What?” 

“If I love you?” It seemed obvious to her. He’d said it. Didn’t he want to know if she felt the same? 

Jaime’s gaze cleared. “I don’t expect you to--”

“I do,” she interrupted him. “Love you. For a long time now.” 

Jaime looked stunned, but he grinned, looking more than a little smug. “You love me,” he echoed happily.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she grumbled, but the warmth suffusing her was intoxicating. 

He laughed. “Too late. You love me.” 

Brienne shoved him playfully, but used the moment to scramble out from beneath him. Her back and ass were starting to burn from rubbing against the carpet. She got up gingerly, her pajama shirt sliding to the carpet. The room was chilly without his body heat. 

His brow furrowed. “Where are you--”

“I’ve got a soft bed and a box of condoms in there. You still want to stay out here?” she asked, offering him a hand. The box probably wasn’t expired. She hoped it wasn’t, or someone was going out in the snow again. 

Jaime shook his head and took her hand, letting her haul him to his feet. From the way his eyes locked on the muscles of her arm and chest flexing, he didn’t mind the view. 

He followed her into the bedroom, where he liked the view even better, and only left her long enough to retrieve the pendant so he could fasten it around her neck. 

Much later, a splash of light momentarily brightened Brienne’s bedroom, showing Jaime asleep beside her. A loud boom outside was followed by another burst of light, and more noise. Fireworks. 

Another year begun, good riddance to the old. Brienne burrowed closer to Jaime, silently thanked the Seven for the gifts she’d been given, and let herself drift back to sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
